She throws herself at the shore,

Body clinging to the gritty, sandy shoulders.

Her wet fingers dig into the flesh of the earth,

Blue skin spread thin so as to wrap herself around each and every

Sharpened glass crystal that fills the beach.

She yearns to pour herself heavily into the arms of the bluff,

To let herself seep into the edges of the eroded earth,

And lift her body from the cavernous salted mouth.

But even with her arms tightly clasped around his neck,

And her white topped head nestled in the crook of his shoulder,

The shore never fails to push her away.

For each grain of sand that lines the shore knows better than to follow her tides.

The ocean, you see, is a tempest, turbulent kind,

Never satisfied with only one shore.

She eats and devours the earth,

Unfurling her vast body to drown everything,

Until all that remains is salty with her brine.